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Michael shows up to their room twenty minutes late with a beanie full of miniature liquor bottles.
“Look,” Michael says, upending the beanie onto Luke’s bed in a clinking of glass. A little bottle of gin follows the dip in the bed and rolls into Luke’s hip.
“Ooh,” says Luke. “It’s a hangover.” There are like fifteen bottles in the pile, none of them the same. Hangover. “Where’d you get these?”
“Harry gave them to me,” Michael says, a note of pride in his voice like that’s particularly special, which it isn’t. Harry would probably hand over his left arm if a friend had an itch on their back they couldn’t reach to scratch. Not that Luke doesn’t like Harry, they’re friendly enough. He doesn’t like him as much as Michael does, but whatever.
“What did you have to give him in exchange?” Luke asks. He tries not to let the note of pettiness that he knows wants to be there creep into his voice. It’s fine that Michael was late for their bro date because he was palling around with Harry Styles. It’s not like he and Michael are bro-nogamous. Luke’s not jealous about how heart eyes emoji Michael goes whenever Harry deigns to cuddle with him on the couch. As if Harry’s even a better snuggle than Luke. As if anyone is.
“Just my anal virginity,” Michael says, giving Luke a filthy look and licking his lips. “Shove over.” He doesn’t wait, just pushes the pile of bottles into the middle of the bed and flops down next to Luke.
“You did not,” Luke mutters. He can feel himself blushing even so. “Did you at least grab cups? We’re not animals.”
“Speak for yourself,” Michael says. He grabs at his crotch with a lewd grin. This is the worst part, probably, of Michael hanging out with Harry. He’s like sixty percent hornier than usual afterward every time, which Luke can only interpret as Michael having a big bisexual crush on Harry and being frustrated about it. Michael stops fondling himself long enough to grab the remote and Luke gets up with a sigh. He has some leftover Sprite from the afternoon, he could probably manage a few decent Long Islands, those are just a little of everything and then you don’t remember anything, right? Ice would probably help the whole business, but that sounds awfully out the door and down the hall for Luke’s taste, and Michael’s already zoned in to the television, checking out the program guide.
Luke sets to pouring with vague memories of the kitchen sink disasters they came up with back in school, drinks made up of however much they could skim from every bottle in the liquor cabinet without their parents noticing. Luke is now a working man with a real job, sort of, and he’s still making clandestine suburban Long Island Hangovers. The rock star life could be more glamorous.
He looks up from the cups to the screen and says, “Hey, stop there. Put on Mean Girls.”
“You’re so lame,” Michael tells him, but he does it.
“Whatever, you love me,” Luke says. He hands Michael his drink, still fizzing a bit even with the mostly flat old Sprite situation.
“I do love you,” Michael says, batting his eyelashes. He’s giving Luke his sparkly Harry eyes, a wide-eyed gaze that makes Luke’s stomach flip like he’s still in primary school, like it did when the prettiest girl in his class told him she liked his curly hair. He kept it long like that for years because of her. Luke’s so lame and so aware of every aspect of his own lameness and it’s the worst. He’s the worst. Everything is the worst, mostly the fact that he keeps having bro dates with Michael when he realized far too long ago that he wanted to have dates with Michael without the bro part.
Michael makes a kissy face at him. “Come here, lover,” he says, patting the bed next to him. Luke sucks down half his drink. This was the stupidest idea ever. Next time Calum and Ashton decide to go out partying Luke’s just going to climb onto Calum’s back like a monkey and not let go. Just make Cal carry him wherever. That’s his plan.
Still he lets Michael bring him in for a snuggle, Michael’s arm open for Luke to tuck himself under and cuddle into the curve of his body. It’s still cozy, relaxing being with Michael like this. They’ve always cuddled well together, even if it’s usually too fraught for Luke to deal with and he makes himself go to Calum for cuddle time instead. Michael’s always warm, his body soft and pillowy even though he always gets leaner on tour. Luke rubs his face against Michael’s collarbone and Michael laughs a little, brings his hand up to pet fondly at Luke’s hair.
It’s hard not to shiver at the feeling, and he tries to focus, pay attention to the TV screen. It is a great movie. Maybe if he focuses on Lindsay Lohan’s boobs he won’t feel like such a nerd with a hopeless man crush.
It doesn’t really work. Her boobs are great and all but the drink is strong and going to his head quickly, which makes sense as he’s to the bottom of it already. “You make the next one,” Luke says, letting his voice go pitiful. Michael’s the easiest mark for Luke’s neediness when they’re alone, doesn’t have the years of being the eldest sibling or life experience of being the baby brother that Ashton and Calum have that let them resist Luke at his baby boy best.
True to form Michael wrinkles his nose at Luke but takes his empty glass, shrugs him off to roll onto his side and start pouring them new cocktails, whiskey and gin and vodka and raspberry schnapps topped off with the last few splashes of flat Sprite. It’s going to be disgusting and Luke’s going to gag probably. He bites his lip and stares at the long line of Michael’s spine through the soft fabric of his t-shirt. “What did you really do for the drinks?” Luke asks.
Michael turns back to look at him, eyebrow raised. “He just gave them to me.” He upends one of the bottles and uses it to stir both their drinks. “I’m not actually fucking him.”
“Do you wish you were?” Luke asks. He swallows, bites his lip. He can blame it on the liquor, he’s already feeling a little woozy anyway. Luke’s never had the highest tolerance. “I know you think he’s hot.” Michael’s staring at him so hard. Luke shrugs, looks away. “It’s not a big deal.”
Michael leaves the drinks on the table, which is how Luke knows he’s fucked when Michael rolls closer to him again. He stretches out, body curved in a way that looks deliberate, all sensual like a naked lady in a museum painting. Luke looks him over helplessly, eyes tracing the soft curve of his waist, the rise of his hip, stretch of his thigh. “Why?” Michael purrs. “You jealous?” He reaches out, pets Luke’s chest gently like he’s soothing a frightened cat.
Luke gulps, his breath coming faster. “Fuck off,” he says weakly.
“Aww, Lukey,” Michael says, soft and sweet. He does not fuck off. If anything, he fucks on, shifting closer, nudging up against the long sprawl of Luke’s body. He slips a leg between Luke’s own, rubbing against his hip a little. Beneath the slow caress of Michael’s fingers Luke’s heartbeat picks up, blood screaming, a flush rising to his cheeks. “What is it?” Michael asks, voice husky, so close now, nudging his nose against Luke’s pink cheek, nuzzling at his jaw. “Do you want me all to yourself?”
On the television Tina Fey is struggling with her shirt around her head. This somehow makes everything more petrifying; Michael’s really committed to this aggressive flirtation if it’s distracting him from a hot half naked older woman. Luke blinks away from the screen and Michael’s just right there, green eyes all shiny, pupils blown, close enough that if Luke moved two, two and a half inches to the left he could brush Michael’s lips with his own. Luke does want Michael all to himself. He wants all of Michael, all of his time and attention and skin. They’ve told each other so much, cuddled up close, exchanging fears and secrets in bed at night in London, but he could never tell Michael this. It’s too much. It’s not fair of Luke to want so much more from Michael.
Michael bites his lip, bumps his nose against Luke’s cheekbone, a petulant demand for attention. “Answer me,” Michael says, lilting up at the end into a whine. He squirms against Luke’s side, forcing Luke to acknowledge his whole body, Luke’s breath coming faster, rougher. He moves his hand from Luke’s hammering heart and Luke thinks maybe this is it, Michael will leave him alone, but of course he doesn’t, always insistent when Luke least wants him to be. Michael breathes out, an impatient huff, and then levers up, straddles Luke’s waist and grabs Luke’s hands as soon as he automatically lifts them to - do something, he doesn’t even know what, and it doesn’t matter anyway because Michael pins his wrists to the bed, his body warm and heavy draped over Luke’s.
Michael heaves in a breath like all that movement exhausted him, overheated now, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, bending so low that his nose brushes Luke’s. Luke can’t look away from him. “What’s your problem?” Michael asks. “You know you can tell me - whatever.”
There’s a quiver in his voice. Nerves. It must be nerves, but Luke can’t think why he’d be nervous, can’t think of much with the warmth of Michael’s body atop his, the beat of his own pulse in his wrists against Michael’s palms. Michael looks down at him with something almost like desperation in his eyes, like he’s searching for something in Luke’s face. Luke licks his lips.
Michael kisses him.
His lips are soft, as soft as Luke always thought they would be - for so long now he’s gone for girls with mouths like this, lush and pink, always giving them his full attention but still somewhere in the background wondering. If that’s what it would be like, kissing Michael. It’s not quite what he expected, a hard press that pulls a helpless little frantic sound from Luke’s throat, too fast and then Michael moves back. He’s still just inches away though, staring down at Luke with terror in his eyes as Luke lies there under him trying not to focus on every inch where their skin’s pressed close.
Luke tries to speak, knows he can’t just stare up slack-mouthed at Michael forever, a kiss-broken thing beneath him. He can make the rest of his body work at least, too much love trapped in his throat to let any of it out but he can break free of Michael’s grasp on his wrists, always funny to see Michael startled anew at how strong he is now as he lets it happen. Michael goes to speak again and Luke doesn’t let him, cups Michael’s face in his freed hands and pulls him down for another kiss.
It’s better. God, it’s so much better, Michael groaning above him, opening for Luke’s tongue, letting Luke lead and take. Luke’s eager now with something on offer, knowing he can have Michael’s mouth at the very least, the warm significant weight of his body on Luke’s. He could pretty happily make out with Michael for ages, would be up for just that but Michael’s already moving against him, pushing his hands up beneath Luke’s shirt to get at skin. Luke lets him, he wants Michael to have what he wants, Luke’s mouth, the warm skin of his belly. He wants more himself, greedy for another each time a kiss ends, taking kisses for himself when they’re not given quickly enough.
Luke can’t help himself, it all feels too good, he’s getting hard in his pants and he knows Michael’s going to feel it. It’ll hardly be the first time. They’ve cuddled enough times to wake up with boners just by the law of teenage boy averages, with reactions ranging from lewd grins and mockery (Michael to Luke) to pretending to be asleep while the other sleepily drags himself to the bathroom to take care of it (Luke to Michael), but it’ll be different this time. Probably, Luke desperately hopes it will because if this is some gay above the waist bullshit then Luke’s going to cry. Big sad tears too, the kind that’ll make Michael feel really bad.
Instead Michael shifts down against him, pulls back a little to look at Luke, biting his lip. Luke can feel him getting harder, rolls his hips up to rub them together through their pants and gives Michael the most innocent look he can muster when Michael looks all surprised, then pleased. He ducks down, takes another kiss and then shakes his head a bit, pulling away to kiss Luke’s jaw, making him whine. “You have to say something,” Michael says, grinding down against him, his words a gasp against Luke’s throat.
Luke moans quietly, slides his hands down Michael’s sides to grab at his ass, move him into a better position. He wonders if moaning counts as saying something. No, probably not. “We should take our clothes off,” Luke says.
Michael swears, drags himself back and sits up a bit. “I thought you were going to say something about your feelings,” Michael says, pouting. He takes his shirt off though, so Luke does the same, struggling a little with Michael still sat astride his thighs.
“I feel like we should take our clothes off,” Luke says, then laughs as Michael’s shirt lands on his face.
“Shut up,” Michael mumbles. Luke fumbles the t-shirt off his face so he can watch as Michael takes off his pants. He’s staring intently down at the waistband of Luke’s bright pink underpants as he fits his fingers into them, getting ready to tug down. “I can’t believe you want to do this with me,” he says, flicks his eyes up to meet Luke’s for the barest second. Then he pulls, Luke lifting his hips to help Michael get them dragged down the length of his legs and then off. Luke spreads his legs once they’re free, painfully aware of how hard his dick is and how naked Michael isn’t, still in his black jeans with Luke all stark nude and at his mercy.
“Of course I do,” Luke says. It makes him squirm to say it, so close to a confession. He’s naked already and now he just feels more naked. Like Michael took off his clothes and bared Luke’s dick and his feelings, nothing left for him to hide. “Kiss me again,” he demands, making grabby hands at Michael, hoping to hide the blush he can feel staining his cheeks.
“Aww,” says Michael, but any sarcasm is smoothed over by his obvious delight as he kisses Luke, letting Luke take advantage of his closeness to fumble at Michael’s zip, working his jeans open. Michael’s cock is smooth, a hot ridge through Michael’s pants, little wet patch staining the fabric and Luke wants to get his mouth on it, doesn’t want to wait anymore. He’s wanted Michael for too long now, since school, thought about this too many times not to have watched some porn and done some fantasizing. He could handle a dick in his mouth, probably. He’s going to give it a shot, definitely.
Luke shifts his hips up, legs spreading wider to wrap around Michael’s thighs, whines, “Take your pants off,” while groping at Michael’s cock, fumbling to push his fingers through the slit in Michael’s pants to touch hot skin. Michael gasps at the first proper touch, tries to jerk his jeans open and down while not moving too far from Luke’s mouth. He fails horribly at it, has to roll onto his side to wiggle his way out of them. Luke giggles, leans down to kiss Michael’s chest, flick his tongue curiously over a nipple. It makes Michael swear, shove the rest of his clothes all the way off and kick them away.
He must stare too long at Michael’s naked body, at his soft pale chest, thick hard cock, because Michael squirms, mutters, “We should get under the covers.”
He shuffles to lift them up, avoiding Luke’s eyes. Luke stops him, blurts out, “But I wanna be able to see you when I suck your dick,” which must be the ideal counterargument because Michael flops right back into place, looking at Luke like he just…well, offered to suck his dick. Not arguing, is the point, so Luke kisses him again, his mouth, cheek, throat, moves on top of him just to feel the drag of his own hard cock down Michael’s belly, leaving a wet little trail of pre-come shining there. He tries not to look at it; it’s just too fucking hot, is the issue, looks too good, Michael’s skin smeared with wet white. Luke swallows, moves between Michael’s spread thighs and grasps Michael’s thick beautiful cock in his hand, Michael’s dark blond bush tickling his fingers.
“I haven’t done this before,” Luke admits. He strokes a little, grip loose, licks tentatively at the flushed pink head of Michael’s cock. Michael looks relieved, maybe at hearing he’s Luke’s first boy experience, maybe just at finally getting his dick touched properly. “So tell me what to do, if I’m not doing it right,” he says, letting it trail off into a mumble so it doesn’t sound like he’s begging for Michael to boss him around. Just the thought makes him feel a little woozy, a drifty sort of need that makes everything sink into place. It’s Michael, he’s going to suck Michael’s cock. He can do this. Fuck, he wants to do this so badly.
He opens his mouth and swallows Michael down. It’s a thicker stretch than he expected (so maybe he’s practiced on bananas once or twice, whatever), forcing his mouth open wide, jaw straining as he moves to find the right angle to get more in. That’s the key, right, just to take more? That’s what feels the best, Luke knows that, it’s not like he hasn’t gotten blowjobs before. He tries to do what he thinks he would like himself, feels an even greater respect for girls who do this without even understanding how good it feels to be on the receiving end as he takes as much as he can, hits his gag reflex sooner than he expected to.
The pressure in the back of his throat makes tears come to his eyes and he blinks them out, looking up at Michael as he does it just to check the status of things. Michael’s staring at him, jaw dropped open. Luke bats his eyelashes, going for jokey but it probably doesn’t land judging by the awe in Michael’s eyes, the slight tremble in his fingers as he touches Luke’s temple, strokes his hair.
“Feels good,” Michael tells him. Luke makes a noise of acknowledgement, hummed around Michael’s cock, and Michael groans, hips shifting up just a bit, refocusing Luke’s attention. He wants intensely, suddenly, to make Michael come; weirdly that was never really something he thought about even when fantasizing. Probably because he had a tendency to come just thinking about sucking Michael’s dick. Luke slips a hand down his body, grabs for his own needy cock, discovering quickly that he doesn’t have the coordination needed to focus on sucking Michael well and jacking himself at a good pace. He settles for just holding his cock, shifting his hips forward in a lazy rhythm as he gets into one with Michael, bobbing his head up and down like his mouth’s getting fucked, sucking hard on the way out because it makes Michael make hot little noises above him, makes him curl his hands into sheets and say Luke’s name.
Luke likes it, the sound of his name in Michael’s mouth when he’s got Michael on his back, Michael’s cock down his throat. He thinks they’ll get to do this again, maybe as proper boyfriends even, if Michael wants that. Luke’s good with whatever Michael wants. If Michael wants to get married, that’d be okay.
Luke groans at himself, closes his eyes and focuses on giving a fabulous blowjob instead of what kind of wedding band he’d want (platinum is classy, right? Luke’s the lamest, basically). It’s getting wetter, sloppy and slicked up with spit, makes it easier for him to stroke Michael as he goes. He’s worked out a rough rhythm, sucking as he jerks Michael into his mouth, occasionally glancing up at Michael mostly just to look at his face and appreciate that this is Michael he’s blowing. He has a pretty good read on Michael’s enjoyment level at this point. Michael’s cock is just so hard in his mouth, his thighs tensed and hips starting to thrust helplessly, so Luke goes with it, sucks hard and eager until Michael gasps, “I’m gonna come,” and then Luke gives it his all, stays with his mouth sunk down on Michael’s dick as Michael starts to come.
Swallowing’s not the difficult task he expected it to be; he only makes himself choke when he thinks about the fact that Michael might suck his cock too and his sharp intake of breath at the thought is somewhat ill-timed. He pulls off of Michael’s dick, red-faced and coughing, and Michael strokes the back of his neck, looking worried, manhandles him up the bed as Luke tries to recover his cool. No good, it’s lost. He’s a loser who chokes on his best friend’s come.
Michael kisses his pink cheek, laughs a little as he says, “That was awesome,” though, so Luke can’t feel too bad about it. Especially not with Michael rolling him over onto his back, running his hands down Luke’s trembling tummy before ducking his head to kiss Luke’s hip. “I’m gonna do you, okay?” Michael asks, and Luke nods, big-eyed and staring down at him, ready to memorize it. He’d take a picture if he thought he could get away with it. Maybe they could make a sex tape later, they’re probably both dumb enough to do that. Luke feels pretty lost for rational thought with Michael opening his pretty mouth wide to swallow his cock down anyway.
“I’m not gonna last very long,” Luke says, might as well be honest about his dick if not his heart, the latter of which still keeps pulsing marriage-y thoughts through his body. Michael definitely doesn’t need to hear any of those, or any of the ones involving the phrases “in love,” “with you,” or “for years.” Michael just sucks harder, better, seems to have a point to prove so Luke lets him. Michael’s hands slip around to his ass to guide Luke to fuck his mouth, which Luke does gently but very fucking sincerely, unable to stop himself from reaching down to pet at Michael’s hair, just wanting the extra touch, closeness. Michael leans into his hand like a kitty and Luke just loves him so goddamned much, his sweet mouth and long eyelashes and pale naked body and the way he loves to make Luke laugh.
Luke barely manages to make a sound before he comes, too sex-brained to warn him. Michael, to his credit, just swallows. Both the thought and sensation of that, Michael swallowing, make Luke wish he could come again. Like, eight more times at least.
Michael pulls off his cock, his throat still working to swallow what’s in it. He wipes his mouth, flicks Luke’s hip with his fingers. “Warn a guy,” he says, then pets over where he flicked to soothe the sting.
“I’m coming,” Luke says weakly. Michael laughs, shakes his head. He looks so fond. Luke hopes he’s communicating the same fondness back to him, but he’s pretty bleary now, the lateness and liquor and excellent orgasm catching up to him. “Cuddle,” Luke demands, holding out his arms. Michael crawls up the bed and practically throws himself onto Luke.
Michael clings, all hot and naked and it’s so nice, Luke’s never letting him wear clothes for a cuddle again. “It’s not just like, just Lindsay is it?” he asks. “That got you all horny?”
“It’s all of it really,” says Luke, after a pause. On the TV screen, Rachel McAdams is about to get hit by a bus. It’s the first Luke’s paid attention to the film in many, many minutes. “I’m a Mean Girls fetishist, you know.”
“Shut up,” Michael tells him. He rubs his nose against Luke’s collarbone. “If anything it’s a penguin fetish you have.”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Luke says, getting closer to sleepy. He’s going to make Michael shift over and turn the lights off at some point. He should get up and brush his teeth and stuff, maybe shower, but he is just…not going to do that. Like, at all. “It’ll be less weird when I bring out the penguin suit for you to wear next time.”
“I knew you’d thought about it,” Michael says, laughing. Luke squeezes him, a little cuddle hug, and Michael quiets, settles. “I like you,” he says.
“Like you too, Mikey,” Luke admits. They should get under the covers. If only Luke had limbs capable of movement.
“Good,” Michael says. He kisses Luke’s throat, face pushed into the curve of his neck. “You’re so fetch.”
“Fetch is not going to happen,” Luke mumbles drowsily, and sometime before the final credits, with Michael curled around him naked and warm, Luke falls asleep.